Savior Beats Up Knockturn Alley

Hagrid was celebrating far too early.

The smooth sailing at the Leaky Cauldron only fed his illusion.

No one believed that this sunny, muscular youth was merely an eleven-year-old boy, let alone the savior, Harry Potter.

Before Hagrid—who seemed to have been raised on Veritaserum—could even out himself, Tom had already opened the passage to Diagon Alley.

[Ding ding ding, evil aura detected, minions of the archenemy. How could the savior not strike with full force!]

[Quest [Teach Dark Wizards a Lesson] (1 EXP per dark wizard defeated, 10 EXP per Death Eater, 1 guaranteed Silver-tier magical knowledge draw upon completion)]

Hagrid couldn't hear the demonic voice, nor could he see the blue screen.

Harry's body trembled, muscles began to tense, and the gentle emerald eyes were suddenly filled with nothing but excitement!

"Let's head to Gringotts first to get the money, hehe. I didn't forget the key, that white house, you... Harry, don't—"

Hagrid's voice silenced the entire street in an instant, followed by a thunderous hum of murmurs.

"Harry? That's Hagrid, the Forbidden Forest Keeper at Hogwarts!"

"Harry Potter!"

"Where is he?"

Everyone overlooked the towering figure as he turned into an arrow loosed from the bow, charging toward the shadow of Gringotts—the side Hagrid hadn't planned to introduce him to: Knockturn Alley.

Boom!

The tall boy landed like a superhero, sending countless stones flying.

Like a burst of daylight shattering the darkness.

His exquisite, flowing white shirt, light-colored jeans, and that sunny smile were utterly out of place in this dark, narrow alley.

Countless malicious, probing, venomous gazes fixed on Harry.

"A Muggle?" A man with a receding hairline and platinum blonde hair, gripping a Serpent Cane, narrowed his cold gray eyes. His gaze flickered away as if he'd seen something filthy, then turned to inspect the shattered shop window glass.

"Hair, eyes, oil, nails, flesh... and pain," a man with slicked-back hair hunched behind the counter. "After harvesting, dump him at the entrance of St. Mungo's. The healers there will wipe his memory and send him back intact to his shiny little cesspool. He should be grateful for the times—souls are the real..."

"Look, the hunt begins."

From across the street, a shop selling poison candles, shriveled heads, and eyeball beer echoed with a sharp, venomous shriek.

"Stupefy!"

A blinding crimson light, red as blood, shot out from the pitch-black doorway.

Pfft—

His right hand seemed to brush past casually. The red light met his palm with only a dull thud. A Muggle? He looked up, flashing white teeth. "Calculation... complete. Justice served!"

The sound of shattering glass, the roar of a massive object cutting through the air, screams, shrieks... the crash of collapsing buildings all rang out at once.

The platinum-haired man instinctively tried to utter a spell, but the trembling ground sent the Serpent Cane flying from his hand. His body pitched forward uncontrollably, and the wind stirred by the commotion above ruffled his scalp.

Behind him came a pained groan, followed by the thud of a body hitting the ground.

"Such petty spells can't compare to my thousand-tempered, steel-forged body~!"

"Potter Combat: Pull Dog Tail!... Hammer Dog Head!"

"Pull Noodles!"

Screams, crashes, and the man's voice mingled... then suddenly, utter silence.

The platinum-haired man held his breath, his hand groping cautiously toward where the Serpent Cane should have been.

"Found you."

He felt as if he'd heard the devil's voice. His heart clenched like a fist, and he dared not look up. In his line of sight were a pair of white Muggle sneakers with drawstrings? Then darkness swallowed his vision, and his body seemed to leave the ground...

A hunched old hag carrying a tray full of fingernails tottered past the shop.

The dark-haired man casually crushed a string of opulent opal necklace underfoot, stepped over a withered hand, and met the old hag's gaze.

Clatter!

The tray dropped, nails scattering everywhere.

"Relax, my fists never hit the elderly," the man said gently.

The old hag looked ready to cry. She didn't bother picking up her fallen items, scrambling and crawling toward the light.

"Kick Dog Waist!"

"You're an old hag, and these aren't fists."

Hagrid reached the entrance of Knockturn Alley just in time to see this: rubble everywhere, the old hag flying through the air, and Harry pulling his foot back.

"Wash Dishes."

Harry still wore that sunny smile. The bloodstains on his fists, face, and white shirt faded one by one, as if an invisible eraser was wiping them clean.

"You... what have you done?" Hagrid finally realized the boy before him was not as simple as he'd thought.

Countless crackling sounds like firecrackers igniting filled the air as Aurors—the magical police—arrived belatedly to clean up the scene.

Meanwhile, inside the [Misinformation Office].

"Professor Dumbledore, the Muggle Prime Minister has replied. They'll fabricate an international research institution, announcing that only a very few youths with disruptive thinking potential have been selected worldwide. Harry is the sole candidate for [Young Prometheus] in the British region."

"Excellent." Dumbledore stretched, his tense body finally relaxing.

"Something's wrong, Professor Dumbledore!"

A sudden cry rang out from outside the door.

"What now?" Dumbledore asked calmly. Ever since he'd come to the Ministry, problems kept finding him, as if he were the Minister himself.

"These people love making a fuss." Fudge, who had been having afternoon tea nearby, got up to open the door.

The door opened on its own.

Beside the panicked pink-haired rookie Auror stood a man like a lion.

"Scrimgeour." Fudge squinted. The man before him was a formidable rival from his election campaign. "What wind blows you here?"

"Dumbledore." Scrimgeour ignored Fudge. "Knockturn Alley has been attacked. The attacker is... Harry Potter."

"Harry?" Dumbledore exclaimed.

For a moment, he was lost in memory.

Inside the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts.

"Phineas, get to the point..." Dumbledore had completely lost his composure. "Are you saying I haven't checked Mrs. Figg's letters in four years?"

Trembling hands opened the dusty envelope.

Phineas moved through one portrait frame after another, coming to stand above Dumbledore's head to look down.

"What house-elf, Dumbledore? Your Chosen One is finished."

"No." Dumbledore took a deep breath. "The key is why I overlooked it. Why did I think I should let things take their course?"

As the pinnacle of modern wizards, he looked toward his pocket, where a wand covered in knobby protrusions lay.

—Could it be... that gods truly exist?

At this moment, Dumbledore thought so again.

"Who was attacked?"

The pink-haired girl answered quickly, "All Dark wizards, and Lucius Malfoy! That Death Eater!"

"You are?"

"Nymphadora Tonks."

"Wait... you didn't rough up Harry, did you?" Fudge asked hastily. "Harry isn't hurt, is he?"

"No." Scrimgeour stepped forward. "Those Dark wizards were all taken down at nearly the same time. He and the Forbidden Forest Keeper were left at the scene—"

"Release them at once!"

Scrimgeour hadn't finished speaking before Fudge cut him off.

"But—"

"No buts! I'm the Minister!"

Fudge interrupted again, standing behind Dumbledore with the smug air of a petty man, hands clasped behind his back and chin held high.

"They were all Dark wizards... didn't you hear? Mr. Malfoy might just be a misunderstanding, but I think he'll understand."

"You—"

For an instant, Scrimgeour seemed about to transform into a lion and lunge. Fudge flinched, then stopped when he saw Dumbledore's back.

"Yes, Minister." Scrimgeour shot a glance at Dumbledore, then turned sharply and left.